Recurrence
by chimericsnap
Summary: When Dana goes missing, Alex follows her trail to the town of Silent Hill only to be beset by threats inside and out.
1. Chapter 1

The world burned. He burned. White light seared around him, through him, and reflexively he cringed away, one hand coming up in a futile attempt to shield his eyes, the loud scream of a siren drowning his own.

The world came back slowly, his harsh fear filled pants the only noise he could hear. Slowly his eyes focused once more, though he wasn't sure he wanted to. The small town he had been wandering about for the last day was gone, the buildings towered far overhead like the skyscrapers in Manhattan, though those had never leaned into each other, looming far above and leaving only hints of whited out sky without doing anything to lessen the overwhelming brightness. The whitened walls and bright bits of metal bursting from the buildings like broken bones only amplified the effect - for once, up was not salvation.

Here and there were outlines of people just burnt into the wall, some with holes gouged into the walls where their eyes would have been. They looked as if they had been just going about their business. He had tried to use them as markers as he wandered the mazelike streets, until he had glanced over his shoulder and seen the outlines had all turned to face him. The constant feel of being watch made his skin crawl, so he gave into the feeling and let his flesh ripple and reform into claws.

He had lost count in how long he had wandered the alleyways, never finding a street. He had no idea if he was even walking in circles, but he had begun to try the building doors, desperate to get out and away from the watchers just out of sight. The doors were broken, jammed, locked - but he couldn't rip them off their hinges, or smash through them. It was if he was attacking the walls for all he had to show for his effort.

Eventually his wanders brought him to a set of glass doors. They slid open as he drew close, the motion activation still somehow working. Inside was just as bright as out, and no matter how far his pupils contracted he couldn't adjust. Thermal vision was just as useless inside as it had been outside; the deep blues and blacks were barely sufficient to see outlines, let alone see anything useful, so he stumbled about half blind.

Here and there the glint of metal hinted at the building's purpose, but it was the scent of antiseptic barely covering the sickly sweet scent of rotted flesh that harshly brought to mind a morgue. The walls about were angled wrong, and tiles upon them had been scrubbed so often and so hard the shine had almost worn off. The grates embedded in the floors were a different story, bloodstained and dented, as if something had smashed into them.

It was then that he heard the first sound he himself hadn't made - a soft hollow whispering, and the sound of flesh on wet flesh. It took far too long to round the corner and come into view, but he found himself rooted in place, unable to move to go meet it, or to avoid it.

It was some kind of monster, wrapped in flesh and in more flesh and clad in _still more flesh_ like a ragged open robe. He swore he saw something resembling eyeholes. There was a head, but no face. The hands were just empty reaching husks, fluttering in the unnaturally still air. It didn't matter. A single slash with his claws split the thing, his feeder tendrils plunging into still living flesh, seeking to sooth the burning hunger that was his constant companion - but the thing's skin began to dry up and flake off into ash that slowly drifted up and away. There was nothing left.

A harsh gasp made him look up. He'd know that sound anywhere - Dana. He had scared her again. "Dana?" he called, his voice sounding unnaturally harsh in the quiet, more like the snarl of a beast than a human voice. "Dana?" he tried again, relieved to note that time it sounded more like his own voice.

There was no answer but fleeing footsteps. He ran after them, never seeming to gain no matter how fast he moved. So caught up in the chase that he forgot to look where he was going, he smashed headlong into the panes of glass before him, the light of a thousand suns momentarily blinding before his eyes adjusted.

This ... wasn't that cold, bright non-city he had been trapped in, just the sleepy silent town he'd been lost in. He had just run through the hospital's emergency doors. The nicks and scrapes had mended before he even noticed them, and he reformed his hands as he brushed off the shards of glass.

Before him on the ground was a map, weighted down by a broken cellphone. The police station was circled, 'Go heRe' scribbled in his own handwritti- no, it wasn't. It was a mishmash of letters, not one matching the others. Still, it was his only lead to finding Ragland, and from there, to finding out what the hell had happened to Dana.

With a sense of déjà vu, he tucked the map in a pocket before striding off into the fog.


	2. Chapter 2

The police station was as trashed as the rest of the town. Papers were strewn everywhere, a few desks were overturned, and the dispatch radio was emitting some of the most godawful squeals he had ever heard before a quick biomass and chitin reinforced fist dealt with that issue. Yet again there was a complete lack of signs of life as he poked through the room.

There was nothing of interest in the front room, and opening the only door forward left him facing a short empty hallway, filing cabinets and chairs stacked haphazardly on either side to make navigation difficult. He gave the nearest stack an experimental push, only to hear the groan of metal on metal as the thing wobbled precariously. If he pushed any harder the damn thing would fall over and make walking through the area even more difficult.

With a low growl, he gingerly squeezed through the first malformed barricade only to discover a half opened door on the right hand side. Since he had yet to find why he had been sent to the station, he peeked in, a cursory glance noting upturned furniture, a blood stain up the wall to a small grate, and yet more papers scattered everywhere. Nothing of note, so he retreated to the hallway and continued to squeeze through the next incomplete pile. Another office door, though this one was closed, and locked. It wasn't a complicated lock, and once the handle was broken off the door opened easily enough.

Inside was a blonde woman leaning over a desk, reading something. She had pretty good reflexes, since as the door creaked open - god, how loud could the damn thing be? It was enough to make him cringe - she promptly shot him. It was a small handgun, so the damage was healed in the same moment it took to realize the sharp sting, but it had been a while since he had been shot.

"Oh god! I'm sorry! Are you hurt?" She dropped the gun and ran over to his side, looking him over for a bullet wound, he supposed.

"No." he tried to back out into the hallway, away from her, but she promptly clung to him and buried her face against his chest, completely ignoring the way he locked up at the contact.

"Thank god! You're the first human I've seen since I got here! What's going on?" she sniffled.

"I don't know," he tried to pry her off without breaking her. The scent of ink and metal clung to her, and something just seemed ... off, and he wanted as little contact with her as possible. At the same time, he was certain that ripping apart someone for touching him was probably the wrong thing to do. On the other hand, he really, really wanted to get as far away from her as he could. The short little sobs she made were starting to grate against his already raw nerves, too.

Slowly, she finally let go on her own, wiping the back of her hand against her eyes. "Sorry..." another sniffling noise, "I'm Autumn. Who are you?"

"Alex," he responded, shoulders hunching slightly as he watched her for any more sudden movements. 'Alex' was just the name of his first, well, victim, he supposed, but he hated to think on that. Alex was how Dana had addressed him, Alex is what he went by, it was good for him.

"Alex?" She looked him over more slowly this time. "You look like - never mind. Do you know how to get out of here?"

"Go down the main road?" he frowned. Apparently that was the wrong answer, since she frowned too.

"You think I haven't tried that? How'd you get here, then?"

"I told you, the main road." Aside from the odd hallucination, his journey through town had been decidedly boring.

"Oh. I guess they must have cleared up the street, then. Well, see you later, Alex." She walked past him, almost reaching up to touch his shoulder as she passed, an odd cadence to her steps. He watched her until she was out of sight, and it took until he could no longer hear her footsteps and the front door slammed closed before he could relax. He'd prefer never seeing her again, no matter her words.

The way clear, he slipped into the office to check for hints, the only thing out of place was an open folder on the desk where Autumn had left it. There was only a single piece of paper in it, a report on a home robbery that had ended in death. Another high pitched creek sounded then, and a glare showed the door had not moved. With no reason to linger and wanting to get out of the building as soon as possible, he returned to the hallway.

Another office, empty and un-noteworthy save for a large blood splatter making everything on the desk unusable. _Skreek._ The next office was likewise empty, save for a set of keys on the floor catching the light of a fallen lamp. That damn noise sounded again as he entered the hall, making him bristle as he entered the last side office. It was the small supply room of the station, a single gun left locked up on a rack. It was a shotgun, made for close range, so he didn't bother with it. His own weapons were far better for close work, anyway. _Skreeeek. _

There was only one door left to check behind, and he shoved it open hard as the damn noise sounded again, claws extending as he peered into the dark room. It was only a few barred cells, the doors all locked tight with chains, the near black rust on them so thick they looked like enmeshed threads rather than separate links.

Inside the farthest cell was an old wheelchair on its side, the dwindling _skree_ coming from a still moving wheel. As he watched, as he glared at it, the wheel slowed to a stop. The damn things always had been creepy. He'd hated visiting his grandmother, the damn noise had given him nightmares when he was little, the creakcreak_creak _boring into his mind, the aged dribbling wrecks of the other residents as they reached for -

No, that was just a memory, not even his own. Blackwatch Private Jeffrey Bradfield had been the one who feared the nursing home, not he himself. It was only a memory, nothing that could hurt him. Bradfield was more than a month dead, his grandmother dead for years. There was nothing they could do to him.

He turned, and walked away, resolutely ignoring the squeaking wheel, and the loud crash after he closed the door. His claws were retracted; there was no threat here, no matter what he had just heard. Inanimate objects didn't move by themselves, and he would have picked up on anything living in the room. He was hearing things, that was all. Ragland would have a solution, once he found the man.

This whole trip was an aggravating waste of time. Ragland should have just stayed in Manhattan, where he had left him. As it was, he was glad that his travels had not taken him too far away when the call had come. He had tried to keep in contact while moving about, both trying to see more of the world and avoid drawing any more attention to Dana while she was so vulnerable, but he didn't keep the same cellphone for long. How Ragland had gotten the newest one's number before he had a chance to call the doctor was yet another question he wanted answers for.

He glanced back in each of the rooms on his way out, just to be certain. Useless gun, nothing, nothing, nothing - wait.

There was a cork-board in the back of the first room near the bloodstain, a small rectangle of color looking oddly out of place against the black and white sketches and documents covering it. Intrigued, he picked his way close enough to pick it up for a better look.

It was a postcard, slightly yellowed with age, though the picture on the front was still quite visible. It looked like an idealistic little town, the people on the front smiling happily. "Wish you were here!" the cheerful text read, and below that "Greetings from Hope, Idaho". On the back was only a single line of writing. 'I miss you.'

He dropped it like it was coated in bloodtox, stumbling over a chair in his need to get the hell away from it. There was no way the postcard should exist, let alone have made it all the way to Maine. All information about Hope was classified, and according to his memories such small towns wouldn't have been worthy of getting their own postcards. Either someone had fucked up badly, or- no, there was no or. That the thing existed meant that someone had fucked up. Still, such things shouldn't be left laying around. With a scowl, he scooped it up and stashed it in a pocket, beside the street map. Not for the first time he found himself wishing Dana was still awake; she'd know what to do with it.

As he turned to leave, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye before something wrapped around him, warm and dark and smelling of flesh. There was a purred whisper, the almost words soothing, the darkness sheltering...

It began to contract. Not only did it contract, but tiny little pinpricks dug into his hide, latching on in an attempt to stay as close as possible. With a soundless snarl he shook out of the stupor, hands unraveling into claws as he lashed and tore at the shroud, ignoring the occasional wound his claws made as he tried to pry the damn thing off. It fought, too, tightening around him and trying to bind his limbs tight.

In the end, its strength was no match for his own, and he ripped it off, stomping viciously on the closest thing to a head the damn collection of skins had. How the hell had it gotten close enough to grab him? Where the hell did it come from? He stomped again, the rustling thing finally going still and beginning to flake into ash along its many wounds. It hadn't even been a proper fight; he was pretty sure he had hurt himself more than it had.

Fed up with the entire building he stormed out, smashing the front door hard enough to knock it partially off its hinges. All that, and nothing to show for it. Well, perhaps not nothing. He took out the postcard and gave it a look once more. The back's writing was useless, but front was set in what looked like a park. He checked the street map, and yes, there was a park near the middle of the town. Perhaps that was where he was supposed to go? It couldn't hurt to check it out, at least.

* * *

Author's Note: Please review, I would appreciate critiques and suggestions!


	3. Chapter 3

The snow had hidden his tracks by the time he left the police station, and despite the slow fall, there was no signs of Autumn having ever passed through. Even though it was November in Maine, the weather had barely been cool enough to support the light dusting of flakes that pooled in corners and continued to drift down. Alex supposed he should be grateful; at least he wouldn't have to adapt to the cold while searching for Dana. As an added bonus, anything living would burn brightly against the cold backdrop of the town.

_If_ he managed to find anything living, that was. So far the entire town had looked long abandoned and neglected, though there were things left everywhere. Perhaps the people had to evacuate in a hurry? Whatever it was, there was something _wrong_ about the town. Hell if he knew what it was, but if he had a choice, he would have stayed as far from it as possible.

There wasn't anything for him to fight against, and the tension left him on edge, his fingers all but itching to melt into claws and rip something apart. But there were no people, no animals, and weather wasn't something you could kill. The snow was ignorable, but the fog killing visibility was actively restricting his movement. He had already abandoned traveling by rooftop, since speed was utterly useless if you couldn't even see where you were going, and loss of his ability to find north currently left him wandering around the streets, inspecting his map at each intersection like a damn tourist.

He had always known where north was. It was as easy as telling which way down was, and it had confused the hell out of him when he had figured out humans couldn't. How did they know where they were going? How did they not get lost and turned about? More importantly, how the hell could he figure it out? He wasn't lost by any stretch of the imagination, just disoriented.

Perhaps... one of his memories recalled a nature documentary about pollution messing up animals' navigation abilities. As much as he hated the comparison, it made sense. One of the signs he'd seen on his way into town had advertised it as an 'historic mining town', and mines could release gas and other toxic stuff.

Maybe that was why Ragland had called? There must have been an evacuation, and they couldn't make it out. Alex hoped that was it; for the life of him he couldn't recall what the message had been. "Alex", "Silent Hill", "Dana" and a near panicked "hurry" were all that he could remember clearly, and there were at least another half-dozen words drowned under static. More distressingly, he quite clearly recalled that a lot more had been said, but he only had a blank space where they should have been.

So far he hadn't found anything to explain the lack of people other than possible evacuation, but now that he thought about it, everything in the town looked much more rundown than anything recently inhabited should have been. That made two problems: where was Dana, and where the hell had happened here? The only reason the second even made it to his list was because it might complicate getting her out of here.

Movement out of the corner of his eye made him jerk alert - there, over in the store window. Between the glass panes taking up most of the store's face and how the long coated mannequins were posed off to the side and thus not blocking line of sight, it was clear there was nothing in there that could have moved. Wonderful. Now he was starting to see things.

A soft burst of static drew his attention away from the window and he immediately began searching for it. The fog did weird things to sound, throwing echoes in surprising directions, but the static was noticeable enough that he had no trouble following it. It even allowed him to take to the roofs once more, the visibility being much less a concern now that he could track something by sound. Interestingly enough, when he had paused to get his bearings the sound had continued to get louder. Whatever it was, it was heading right in his direction.

As the source continued to approach him, Alex settled on a nearby peak, securing the best location for either running or attacking as the situation called for it. He didn't have to wait long; several dark figures all but materialized out of the greyness. They didn't look human, but then gas masks tended to do that. Blackwatch specialized in making their forces look threatening and unapproachable, and their bio-hazard combat gear excelled at it.

They moved slowly, watching all directions but _up_. In the center was their commander, his white uniform looking decidedly grey in the lighting. The bastard was toying with his radio, the bit of machinery obviously malfunctioning if the steady stream of static was anything to go by.

How the hell did a Blackwatch squad end up _here_? He thought he had lost them long ago. No matter, he knew the best way to get answers from them. He shifted in anticipation, ignoring the burn as his right arm broke down , losing connective tissue and bone until it was little more than elastic tendons tipped by a brutish claw. There was no way they'd be able to escape him.

A single bound and he was among them. the radio let out a final squeal of noise before dying. A single swat cleared two of the soldiers out of the way, but by then the squad had managed to get their act together. It didn't matter that he was in their midst; Blackwatch never cared about friendly fire if there was a chance to take him out. As always, the bullets stung but that was it. It certainly wasn't enough to stop him from lashing out with his modified arm, the short claws digging into the man's vest as he leapt back up to the roof. The officer followed after him, dragged up as the mutated tendons coiled back in on themselves.

The squad continued to spray bullets up in his direction, but the roof ledge proved a decent enough shield for now. Without fanfare, Alex lifted the officer up and slammed him against the rooftop twice, stilling his struggles. Back in Manhattan he had mauled his targets, but having them stunned was good enough now. He braced himself for a rush of memories as his tendrils reached out and buried themselves in the still twitching man, seeking nerves and flesh.

Instead, they found nothing. No, not nothing. Metal. Oil. Chemicals that stung and sharp edges that severed vulnerable tendrils. With a snarl of pain, Alex pulled them back and ripped the leader apart. The suit went flat in his grasp as bits of machinery went flying, a few flecks of oil splattering the roof tiles. He growled wordlessly in anger as he flicked the scraps of metal and cloth off the roof.

Leaping down, he landed hard on one of the still shooting soldiers. There was a crack, but it was quickly overshadowed as he buried now heavily muscled fingers into what was left of his torso and pulled. With disgust he noted the figure's form collapsed as soon as the suit's seal was breached, bits of machinery splattering the street in pale imitation of blood.

He darted to the next as his arm flattened into a blade as tall as he was. The soldier didn't even have time to think before Alex split him in two lengthwise. The hollow uniform fluttered to the ground even as Alex pounced on the next. He simply whipped the man into the ground as hard as he could, the helmet caving in from the force. They were just as empty as their commander had been.

The last three tried to retreat. The bullets may as well have been rain for all the deterrence they were. Biomass flowed, and he stabbed the street with his newly formed claws. The asphalt heaved and cracked as tendrils burrowed under it. While the remains of the squad had been smart enough to retreat for once, one was too slow to outright run. It's uniform crumpled as it was impaled from beneath.

No matter what the soldiers were, they still ran human slow, and their warm forms burned against the icy backdrop. To Alex, it was pathetically easy to follow their every move. It was effortless to dart past them on the roofs and land silently as they paused to catch their breaths, frantically looking back to see if they were still being chased. One looked back to see where they were headed, and had just enough time for a terrified gasp before Alex ran him through with a fist. Just metal and cloth.

The last turned as he heard his companion's gasp, and on seeing Alex he fell to his knees. Alex just grappled him and threw him to the street, his heel coming down on the soldier's helmet as he tried to ward off the blow.

The whole fight took maybe a minute, but he had nothing to show for it. Worse, the bullets had chipped off precious biomass that he couldn't even replace.

Aggravation spurring him on, he ran now, sprinting down the streets as he cast about for any sign of Dana. The town wasn't that large, there had to be some sign of her. Still, he was paying as much attention to his surroundings as his search so it was quite the surprise when he vaulted over an abandoned car and almost ran right into a gaping hole in the town.

Alex skidded to a stop, tendrils and heels digging into the asphalt before he went over the edge. The street, no, everything past the intersection just fell away in a sheer drop. A quick glance showed that it extended as far as he could see. He idly kicked a nearby fallen mailbox off the edge, listening to it rattle its way down far out of sight.

The only saving grace it had was that the fog had opened up around the gash. On the other side, just over a block away, a shredded sign hung halfway out of the mist, announcing a "-ll Park". His destination, hopefully. He hadn't seen anything like a park on this side.

It wasn't very far away; he'd jumped much further distances before. Granted, that had been vertically rather than horizontally, but heights had always been one few things that hadn't bothered him. Backing up a few blocks to build up speed, he vaulted over the car once more as he leapt towards the other side.

Alex realized his mistake instantly; the other side never grew closer, yet somehow the side he had just left grew farther away. He lashed out with his biological version of a grappling hook at the top of his jump, and yet his claws just managed to scratch the asphalt before gravity kicked in and he was dragged down into the mists swirling below.

He was on his feet before he knew what was going on, the small book that had been tucked under one arm hitting the ground with a soft thump. The fog was as claustrophobic as it had been before, but the air was saturated with the scent of water as waves lapped nearby. When no immediate threats showed up, Alex relaxed enough to look around. He had been slumped against a wall in an alleyway, just out of sight from the road. There was no sign of how he had gotten there or what had happened in the rift.

The only clue seemed to be the small book he had dropped. With a frown, he scooped up the battered thing. His memories insisted that it was 'well-loved', but he thought someone must have hated it. The thin cardboard pages were slightly warped, someone had scribbled over it with a black marker, and there were bite marks on the spine, but the cover still happily exclaimed it was from an "I can read!" series. The title "Dinnertime for Mr. Kitty" was just barely legible.

Wondering how the hell it had ended up with him, he thumbed through the short book. Bits of fabric had been glued to the illustrated animals acting out the story, though there was barely any fuzz left to the swatches. The plotline was simple, what could be read through the black marker, and thoroughly uninteresting. An anthromorphised cat was hungry, and his apparent friends, a Ms. Mouse and a Ms. Bird were trying to find him something to eat. They failed, and the cat died. His memories insisted it was a very poor child's book. He didn't care.

The last page at least stated where it originally came from. A sticker proudly proclaimed it property of the Silent Hill Library, and a card below was checked out to some illegible scrawl, and unless he had completely lost track of time, it was due that day, the 18th.

Alex stuffed the book into a pocket as he cast about the area. There was no scent but his own, and no trails he could pick up at all. Upon wandering down the street he finally found a street sign, half fallen over. With that bit of info, he finally placed his location to now be on the other side of the damn lake. How the hell did he get _there_?

The bridge across wasn't hard to locate, but it was no help. He could only see one half though the fog, and that was shattered beyond repair, the rubble peaking out from the bridge's base. He certainly wouldn't be returning that way. A glance off to the side showed a couple small boats tied to the docks. There was no way in hell he would set foot on one of those. If the damn thing didn't sink under him, he would still have no way of making it go, and the prospect of being on open water was cringe inducing. Around the lake by foot it would be.

That plan was quickly discarded when he heard the faint sound of feet in the distance. There, just at the edge of the fog was a slim figure, a girl. About Dana's size, messy dark hair, and dressed in what looked like hospital gown. As he glanced over, she bolted up the stairs of a nearby building, the heavy door slamming behind her. The weird thing was he could have sworn he had seen her before, in that odd hallucination in the town's hospital. He ran after her, making it to the building just as the door clicked shut.

It may have been locked. Something in the handle certainly crunched when he twisted and pulled, but once that bit was removed the door swung open easily. Inside was dark, enough so that after the far too bright outside he was momentarily blinded while he adjusted his eyes. It was a tiny lobby, from what he could tell, with a door on every wall and notes large posters with intimidating figures ordering that things be returned to their rightful place covering what was left.

The thick scent of dust, old paper and older leather made it hard to tell where that girl had gone. She couldn't have gotten far, not at his speed, but he ended up pacing twice around the room before he finally noticed the scuff marks on the floor leading to the room a tarnished plaque claimed was the main library.

Unlike the outer door, pulling on the handle only caused it to pop off. A quick shove made the whole room groan warningly, and he backed off before it could collapse. Whoever that girl was, he was certain that she wouldn't survive if he brought the whole building down on their heads. Transforming his hand into a set of claws and shoving one of the bladed digits into the keyhole ended with something snapping the tip of his claw off. It didn't _hurt_, not really, but he sure as hell wouldn't try that again.

A key of some sort was required, and hopefully he hadn't fucked the lock up so bad that it wouldn't work. Shifting through his memories indicated that they were usually found in drawers, on hooks, or pants pockets. A quick vault over the counter revealed several drawers, and though none had keys in them they all had notes. There was only one of any interest, proclaiming the elevator's roof entrance to be working once more, and to just use the main key to activate it.

Seeing as there was nothing of use in the lobby, he checked the left door to find it an old fashioned elevator with both an inner and outer door. It was also barely the size of a closet, and there was no way in hell he was going in there. Even if there was the chance that it could support his weight, the thought of being in an elevator again made his skin crawl.

Karen... Goddamn, he wished that he had found more of those Blackwatch assholes before he had found her location. Maybe then things would have been different. Maybe he wouldn't have killed her. Maybe he still would have. She had betrayed him, used him and then gave Blackwatch what was pretty much a sentient cancer to eat him alive from the inside out. He had almost died because of her. And yet, she had given him his first hug. His only hug, come to think of it. It had been... nice, he supposed, when she hadn't been terrified of him, when she had actually cared about him. Or rather, the original Alex Mercer.

Shaking off the memories and forcing his biomass to still, he checked the other room. Columns of boxes were stacked to the ceiling, leaving barely enough room for him to squeeze through. It was darker the farther back he got, but the lack of heat in the room made shifting his eyesight to see pointless. Deep in the room there was a golden glow, barely glimpsed through the stacks.

At steady intervals there were faint lamps on the wall with bright white moths fluttering about them. As he passed by, the moths abandoned their pointless flying about the lamp to swarm about his head. The first time it happened he swatted the bug down and almost took out two of the box stacks, but after that he just ignored them. It was more effort to get rid of the moths in the confined area, and they mostly stayed out of sight.

As he squeezed though the last set of stacks the boxes collapsed and the papers inside went everywhere, filling the air as it set off a chain reaction. Alex froze at the noise; as far as he could tell everything was falling apart and no doubt alerting anyone in the area. Between the light no doubt silhouetting him and the lack of cover he'd be shot instantly.

As the papers slowly settled and no one called an alert or shot at him, he forced himself to relax. The town really must be abandoned if no one had heard that racket. There wasn't a single intact box as far as he could see, and it was a straight shot from him to the door. As nice as it was to no longer be in such a confined area, he would have preferred the cover.

Against the wall there was a small table, a small lamp on it leaving the area just bright enough to read. When the boxes had collapsed the papers had gone everywhere, leaving a set of keys almost buried. Shoving the papers aside he claimed the keys. If they weren't the right ones, he was going to just break the damn door down.

Alex had turned to go when something about the papers caught his eye. With annoyance, he grabbed a few and held them up to the light. Each and every one was a missing person sign, and as he scanned them they almost looked familiar. But then, he had a hard time telling humans apart unless there was something distinctive.

Something red dropped onto the papers, causing him to pause. Frowning, he touched the puddle of red, smearing it across the picture. Blood, more importantly, his own. But how- One of the moths fluttered into sight, red staining its wings. It was covered in blood, the thick liquid gumming up its wings and dragging it down. A quick look revealed that all the others were barely aloft, their wings likewise stained.

Another drop of red hit the paper, and he brushed his hand along his hood, scowling as it came away streaked in blood. It took only a thought to heal the damage, but the fact that it required any, or that he'd been damaged at all, bothered him.

No matter if the moths had been the cause or just an indicator, Alex couldn't stand to have them around anymore. Crippled as they were, an unaugmented human could have killed them. Their carapaces were gunshot loud as he crushed them in hand, but since no one come when the boxes had collapsed, he didn't care.

Grabbing the keyring, he stormed back to the main library door. One of the keys fit into the lock easily, though when he tried to pull it back out it broke in half. He was just lucky the damn thing opened up after that. There was no sign of the girl on the other side, but there were scuff marks on the floor and the scent of a living human still lingered in the air, along with something achingly familiar he couldn't place.

Without thinking his footsteps quieted as he slunk through the tall bookshelves, blending into the shadows. She wasn't going to get a chance to run this time. Whoever the girl was, he was going to get his answers one way or another.


End file.
